


A Disruption In The Force

by syn0dic



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, Star Wars AU, also i know i kind of toy with the idea of more chapters here so maybe i will, hinted at claurenz and leomari, mandalorian jedi claude, this was so fun to write even with a time crunch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24010750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syn0dic/pseuds/syn0dic
Summary: A routine job goes sour for Claude and the crew of the Dawn Axis, a band of anti-Imperial rebels from all walks of the galaxy's life.Happy May the Fourth!
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	A Disruption In The Force

“You think we got a live one?” Leonie’s feet were kicked up on the dash of the ship, the blur of hyperspace slowing to the dim blue light of a planet below. One hand was on the steering column, the other floating to the panel of commands, as Claude leaned back in the copilot seat.

“We might,” he shrugged, twirling his blaster pistol around his fingertip.

“Stop, before you shoot out one of my computers,” she said, smacking his shoulder. “What’d the guy say the shipment had? Ion disruptors?”

“T-7s.” Claude tucked his pistol back into the holster, his gauntleted hands floating naturally behind his head. “Which means, you know--”

“That we have to get them out of Imperial hands.” Leonie shook her head. “I know, I know. Let me land this thing, alright? Which sector?” Claude put up the tracker hologram, the bright map of Kaikielius, the tiny red dot shining.

“Southeast continental, beside the Great Vahali Sea.” Claude sighed as they descended through the atmosphere. “Me and Hilda are the only ones going this time.”

“You’re not taking Lysithea?” Leonie wrinkled her nose. “She’s not going to be happy about that.”

“She can complain all she wants,” said Claude. “I’m not playing around when there’s stakes like this. She’s a liability sometimes. Her temper gets the best of her.”

“It’s not really her fault,” said Leonie, pulling the ship in over the ocean as she triple checked the cloaking. “You can’t blame her for being a little short with you, Claude.”

“Ha ha,” he snorted, standing up and brushing off his armor. “I’m going to terrorize the rest of the crew. Lemme know when we’re in.”

“Oh, you’ll know,” snorted Leonie. “The landing gear still needs patched up. The ol’ girl goes thunk any time I bring her down.”

“I’ll remind Marianne,” said Claude, grabbing his helmet off the console, the familiar T-shaped visor staring up at him from his arms.

“Be sweet about it, alright?” said Leonie.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Claude. “Keep being soft on her, Leonie.”

“Hey!”

“See ya!” He laughed as he shut the airlock behind him, tiptoeing through the crew quarters of the _Dawn Axis_ , trying to catch the snippets of whatever conversation was going on in the cabin before he poked in. Ignatz, Raphael, and Hilda were all laughing, making jokes-- and Lysithea sounded sore about it.

“It’s not funny!” she said, shrill. “Hilda, stop laughing.”

“I’m sorry, Lysithea,” said Hilda, trying her best to contain herself, “but you’re just so... _tiny_ that it’s very funny to imagine you taking on exactly how many battle droids at the same time, when you were eleven?”

“Thirty, and their commander,” she huffed. “It was a training exercise.”

“And it paid off,” said Claude, sliding into the booth with the rest of them. “You’re great at what you do, Lys. Even if you were the smallest Sith Inquisitor I had ever seen back then.”

“I’m not _small!_ ” She flew to her feet, hands clenched in frustration.

“Alright, alright, I’ll lay off it. Hil, we gotta start getting ready to go. And Raphael, Ignatz, I need you two on standby. Just in case.” Claude leaned an elbow on the table. “Leonie too. If we need Marianne to take us out of here in case things go really, really far south, she can handle it.”

“Got it,” said Ignatz, pushing up his glasses as he inspected his sniper rifle, polishing its barrel. “Do you think it’s going to go wrong?”

“Well,” said Claude, “you tell me if this sounds like a setup. An anonymous Imperial defector tells us there’s a shipment of ion disruptors coming into a core planet that will be minimally guarded for the duration of their three day vacation on Kaikielius. Oh, and did we mention this vacation spot for the Empire’s most horrific weapons? Kesipli! In a storehouse behind the governor’s manor!”

“This does sound like a set-up, yes,” said Ignatz, rubbing his chin. “But you’re still going through with it?”

“Well, on the off chance the disruptors are there for a reason other than bait,” said Claude, “I think we have to get them out of the Empire’s hands. It’s the moral thing to do.”

“Fair enough,” said Hilda, twirling her pink hair around her finger as she idly fidgeted. “Just you and me out there?”

“I want to keep it a secret kind of affair. Stay on the down low, you know?” And-- Claude wouldn’t say it, but he didn’t want the other five to get caught up in his plan if it failed. He’d already told Leonie: if he, and unless he could help it, Hilda, got captured, she was to leave them behind and protect the others, no matter how hard they fought her.

“Well, when you need the big guns, you know exactly who to call!” said Raphael, leaning back.

“So you’re leaving me behind,” said Lysithea, her tone a rolling boil. “I can handle it, Claude--”

“And I don’t think you can’t.” Claude stood up and headed towards the engine room door. “We’ll talk about this later, alright?”

“I want to talk about this now,” she snapped. Claude looked around the room, and with an easy smile, Hilda stood and left.

“I’ll go get my guns ready to dance,” she said, blowing a kiss to them both, and Ignatz and Raphael slipped into their crew quarters, the door whirring behind them.

“Can you sit down?” said Claude politely. He wondered what his master would have said in a time like this. What he would’ve done. Claude didn’t see himself as Lysithea’s teacher or mentor; between them there was only two years. But he was the person who had gotten her away from the Empire, and had taught her ways of the Force that weren’t simply the Dark Side. If there was anyone on the ship she’d listen to with matters like this, even at fifteen, it was him.

“Fine. Why can’t I come with you two?” She crossed her arms, and Claude sighed, rubbing at his temple. Her peachy-orange skin had turned a bright pink in her frustration, white tattoos and white hair making her look like a strawberry. It would’ve been funny had he not been in the midst of trying to talk to her seriously.

“Well, first,” he said, “you need to stay behind with Marianne, because if either of you gets taken by the Empire, we’re in a world of trouble. You’re both wanted criminals, and if they get you…” He trailed off. “I don’t want to run that risk. Especially with you, kiddo.”

“Don’t call me kiddo. I could take it! I’ve fought dozens and dozens of stormtroopers, Claude. I have a lightsaber and if worse comes to worse, you’ve seen what I can do. You were a Jedi, and you get to go.”

“Using the dark side is a bad idea in situations like this,” he said, shaking his head. “No. And, that’s my second worry. You’re still learning to keep yourself under control and keep your cool. I trust your talent, sure. You’re the best I’ve ever seen at a lot of things. But you still don’t have much control or restraint. That’s part of being responsible. And nobody asked me to go. I made the plan, it’s my life on the line.”

“You sound like a Jedi,” she sighed.

“Eh,” shrugged Claude. “There’s worse things to sound like.”

“Hm,” she said. “Promise me, next time, that you’ll let me come.”

“What else do I have to do to beg for your forgiveness for this one?” he joked.

“I could go for some candy, if you find it down there.”

“How you were ever an apprentice of the dark side, I will never know,” he said, standing up and ruffling her white hair as he walked back to the engine room as the door shut behind him. Marianne was ducked under the coolant tanks, wrench by her side, as she adjusted. He could simply tell, just by the energy around her: she was meditating.

“Hey,” he said, leaning against the tank. She slid out from underneath, her hair still loosely pinned into its braid, the little woven padawan beads tucked deeper into the crown where only the most observant could even see them. “Hard at work or hardly working?”

“The former,” said Marianne, dusting off her white linen robes.

“Well, when you get the chance, don’t forget to take care of the landing gear.” Claude, who had no need to cut or hide his braid since he wore his helmet nearly every time he was off the ship, and seldom removed it otherwise, reached up to push his own back behind his ear, the green, yellow, and black beads clicking against each other. Marianne’s, white, blue, and green, almost vanished in her light blue hair.

“There’s parts we’re missing,” she said. “But they’re expensive. It can wait.”

“Gotcha. And by the way, Leonie told me to tell you to take it easy. You still alright after last week?” She’d been involved in trying to smuggle refugees, and one of the people they’d tried to save had died in her arms while she was healing them.

“I’m fine,” she said quietly. “I should head for the cockpit after I finish working on the coolant valve here.”

“Hey, don’t forget, we’ve got your back. If you ever need someone to listen to you, we’re all here.” Implicitly: him, most of all. He knew, probably better than anyone else on the ship, what Marianne had gone through. The two of them had known each other when they were younglings, then had by chance reunited as friends after Order 66, in hiding, padawans without masters.

“Thank you, Claude,” said Marianne. The ship thunked, and Marianne sighed. “I have to tell Leonie to warn me next time.”

“I’ll tell her for you,” said Claude. “Well, me and Hilda are gonna get going. Be careful,” he said. Hilda might have been his battlefield companion, but it was Marianne he knew he could rely on to guide a path of kindness and principle: if she was lost, all was lost.

“As long as you are,” she said with a clever, half-soft smile as they both walked to the cockpit.

“Claude. Keep your helmet comm on.” Leonie chunked a screw at him and it bounced off his armor.

“Wow, this is how you treat your captain?” He shook his head. “Geez, Leonie. After you complained about me breathing into the mic a month or so ago, I thought you wouldn’t mind me leaving it off.”

“How else are we supposed to know you’re still breathing?” She rolled her eyes. “Leave it on.”

“Sure, sure. You got Hilda’s rigged up?”

“Yep!” Hilda spun in the copilot seat, the mic hooked into her twin pigtails. “We’re ready to go. Let’s hit it! I’m getting bored.”

Claude sighed and put on his helmet. “Come on. Before I change my mind.”

“Oh my stars, you’re breathing _right on the mic_.” Claude stared at her through the visor. “Kidding. I’ll have the cargo hold ready for the disruptors. Do you have any idea what we’re doing with them after this?”

“I was just going to smash them up and leave the debris in deep space somewhere. Just a quick pit stop off a hyperspace lane to ditch the garbage.”

“You’re joking.”

“Listen, I’m not letting these things into the market. No chance.” Claude checked both of his pistols and the lightsaber he kept hidden in his shoulder plates, a yellow blade with a golden hilt.

“Fine, fine. We just have to stay fed, Claude. Can’t forget that important detail.” Leonie shrugged. “I’ll trust you on it. Get out of here, you two.”

“Yes ma’am,” said Hilda with a wink as she flounced (as much as one could in stealth gear with a rotary blaster cannon over her shoulders) to the bay doors of the ship. “So the plan is, find our little informant friend, get the disruptors, smuggle them to the ship, and poof?”

“Honestly?” He shrugged. “I’m playing this by ear. I don’t have the storehouse plans.” They stepped out into the sunlight of the civilian port. Claude got a few looks; it wasn’t every day most people saw a Mandolorian in armor hanging around. “However we can get them back, we get them back, and jump to hyperspace as fast as we can.”

“So, what you’re saying is,” she said, “we’re bullshitting it?”

“More or less,” said Claude. “You see why I didn’t want anyone else coming along?”

“I sure do. You know, I think I do best when we’re bullshitting.” She beamed up at the bright sun, glancing around at the port’s bustling inhabitants. Humans. Humans of some wealth, not dressed like poor farmers or soldiers. They were middle class, not suffering under the Empire’s thumb. They were thriving. _They were the thumb_ , thought Claude. But Hilda might never see it. He was half convinced she was just along for the ride.

“Well, that’s good to know,” said Claude. “Storehouse behind the governor’s manor,” he repeated to himself as they walked. He glanced at the walls that surrounded the city, high as they cast shadows over luxurious suburbs along the seaside port.

It was hard to miss the governor’s manor, at least. It was huge, perched over a seacliff like a bird in flight, all the sleek softness of the Old Republic, glossy and a bright silver, hung with a plain, red Imperial banner. He had many things to say about this, but Hilda beat him to it.

“Why would they spoil such a nice looking mansion with that stupid flag?” She rolled her eyes. “You know, I think the old buildings mostly look really pretty. Now, I know this is probably reconstructed, but the way it reflects the light is just gorgeous.”

“It was probably built with Republic blood money, you know,” joked Claude.

“You’d think they’d at least respect that much,” she joked in return, “and keep it intact.”

“Ha ha. If this is anything like the governor’s mansions on...everywhere else, then the storehouse is underground and has a cliffside entrance. You got your rappelling gear?”

“Yep,” said Hilda. “But I don’t see why you can’t get me one of those fancy little Mandalorian pieces. Just to borrow! Paint it pink, maybe.”

“You’re not Mandalorian,” said Claude, “and I can’t afford enough beskar for that.”

“Ugh,” complained Hilda as they approached the cliffside. “Just for once, I’d like it if I had it easy with all the climbing and rappelling and jumping and-- you could use the Force or something, right?”

“There’s probably a thousand droids monitoring the storehouse,” he said, “so no. It’s just safest to take it slow sometimes.” He latched his grappling line onto the edge of the cliff face, and leapt over the edge, the whir of the strong metal line music to his ears before he caught himself on one of the outcrops on the cliff face, hand in the grey stone.

“Show off,” called Hilda from forty feet above him. “Do you see the storehouse?”

“Bright and clear,” said Claude, pointing to a concealed open air, natural cavern with a field over its entrance. “This is almost too easy, Hil. No guards?”

“Maybe our little informant is looking out for us,” said Hilda. “He sounded really cute, even with the voice scrambler.”

“So we know it’s a he,” said Claude. “Said he’s got connections, said he knew how long they’d be unprotected. Are you sure we aren’t dealing with someone higher up who’s laying a trap?”

“If we are,” said Hilda, “and I don’t think we are, then you and I can simply shoot our way out of this. It’ll be just like that incident on Corellia.”

“I hope it’s nothing like that incident on Corellia. Marianne had you in the bacta tank for a week.”

“You win some, you lose some,” she shrugged, continuing her descent. “I don’t see any guards down there.” Claude was restringing his line for another descent, and sighed.

“This feels wrong. Something’s up down there.”

“Relax! You’re probably just working yourself up. I know you aren’t a big fan of, like, the ion disruptors or being around here, I get it!” She beamed at him, glossy pink hair glowing in the sun. “Just take it easy, Claude.”

“How do you do it,” he said, shaking his head as he went for his second leap and landed on the metal platform.

“With grace and style,” she said, winking down at him as she set boot to platform and yanked down her rappel line. “Let’s go get those disruptors!”

“Wait--” he said, pausing. “Make sure your gun’s ready to go.”

“What would I do without your big head around?” she said, pulling her blaster cannon off her back and popping in its plasma cartridge. “Die, probably!”

“Ha ha,” he said, stepping behind the field. It was dim inside, a hollowed natural cavern filled with box after box of Imperial supplies, stamped on every crate as the stone floor beneath echoed each step. Next bit of beskar he got, thought Claude, it was time for some quieter boots.

“Do you think he’s in here?”

“Shh,” said Claude, climbing up one of the crates. “There he is.”

In the middle of the storehouse, stood a young man, with an atrocious purple haircut that Claude could only call a crime against everything that eons of style in the Galaxy had fought to prevent. He wore the elegant satin of a pampered young nobleman, but was pacing in front of a flat crate, quiet and tall and lanky. This had to be him.

“Great. Point the way so we can get out of here,” said Hilda.

“Something’s off,” said Claude. “Be on your guard. I got a bad feeling about this.”

“Cut it out,” she said, hefting her cannon onto her left shoulder, comically small by comparison to her weapon. “Hi!” she called, turning the corner.

“Don’t open with hi,” groaned Claude. “You’ve got the shipment?”

“I do,” he said, voice stiff and prim.

“You weren’t followed?” asked Claude, wary.

“Nary a chance of that,” said the young man. “I may or may not have very high security clearance. My father is the governor; few would challenge my loyalty to the Empire.”

“You’re a Gloucester?” If Claude didn’t have his helmet on, the other two would’ve seen his jaw drop. “Not that I’m not grateful, but what in the stars possessed you to side against the Empire?” The Gloucesters were an old arms dealing and weapons family that had long, deep roots, or as deep as they could go, with the Empire’s beginnings. They were one of the foundational lines of Imperial power, even if it had only been three years.

“Lorenz Hellman Gloucester,” he said, pointedly. “I remember a time when the Republic was free. I assume you do, too. These,” he said, gesturing to the disruptor crate, “are not the weapons of a free people. I overheard my father brokering the deal with them, and simply decided I could not stand for it any longer.”

“Fair enough. You ever get any trouble, you know how to call us.” He mock saluted, and Hilda lifted the cart. “Leonie, we’re out back behind the governor’s mansion, storehouse beneath the cliff. If we could get a lift, that would be great.”

“Not so fast.”

There it was. That bad feeling, the sick pit of dread, coming to fruition. A fourth voice, and a soldier with a gun Claude could feel before it touched his armor.

“You weren’t followed,” said Claude sarcastically, kicking the soldier’s feet from under him from behind, stormtrooper armor clattering to the ground. “Hilda!”

She was fending them off with a staff while she finished the shoulder mount for her gun, and Claude ran to her side, firing at the stormtroopers from his blaster pistols. His lightsaber itched for use, burning to be in his hand, calling itself to his hand, but he couldn’t. He knew better than that. “Come on, baby,” she said, fidgeting with the toggle-- and finally, fired a punchy, victorious shot into the one in front of her, clearing the way to the disruptors.

“Leonie, hurry,” he said, toggling his comm on.

“I’m on my way, sheesh,” she replied.

Hilda yanked the disruptor cart, aiming and pushing and running all at once, and again, Claude was reminded why she was his most reliable friend on the battlefield-- but as they were making a break for it, he turned around.

Lorenz.

He was struggling against the stormtroopers, armed only with a very lightweight defense pistol. Defenseless, practically, unarmored, and dodging shots only by chance. Claude couldn’t leave him to die. It would be wrong. Clearly, he was not involved in the ambush, and truly seemed to have best intentions. The _Dawn Axis_ hummed outside by the platform, hovering in place, and Leonie lowered the landing.

“Claude, come on!” called Hilda, approaching the field.

“I’ll catch up to you,” he said, turning around and making what he was sure would be a terrible mistake. Running through the maze of crates and shooting as he went, he turned back into the corner, where the governor’s son was backed against one of the crates by five troopers. Claude hated to do this, he really did. But he wasn’t always a great shot with a blaster pistol.

Sliding his lightsaber out of its shoulder compartment and snatching it into his hands, he ignited it with a yellow glow, and with three slashes, the troopers fell to the floor. There were more around, he guessed, but it would buy them time.

“Run,” said Claude. “We have to get out of here.”

“Who are you?” said the young man, looking even more perplexed than before.

“If I told you, I don’t think you’d believe me,” he said, a sharp grin as he took off his helmet, padawan braid tumbling from where he’d tucked it. “Let’s go.”

At the _Dawn Axis_ , Hilda and Raphael were hauling the disruptors onto the ship, chucking them into the bay.

“Be careful,” said Ignatz, “they explode.”

“Explode schmexplode,” said Hilda, sliding one of the crates over the bay. “We gotta get out of here.”

“Soldiers?” asked Ignatz. “Where’s Claude?”

“Running around being a do-gooder--” and interrupted by Claude sprinting through the field at a breakneck pace with the violet-haired young nobleman at his heels, helmet in hand. “Claude! I was just making fun of you for being a square!”

“No time,” he said, winded as he jumped onto the ship. “We gotta break for it.”

“Well, me and Raphael already have the ship good to go. Let’s hit it.”

Lorenz stood uncomfortably on the edge of the platform, watching Claude toss his helmet inside, damaging the comms that Ignatz had been tinkering with for weeks, almost certainly. Claude leaned against the door, and sighed.

“You think you’ll be safe up there?” Claude asked, pushing a hand through his hair.

“Certainly not. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was engineered by my father. I had informed one rebel cell before, I-- I must wonder if he wanted the soldiers to miss or not. Surely, the consequences for me will be dire.” Geez, he was stuffy, thought Claude, but that was immediately replaced with some semblance of sympathy.

“Do you have anyone in the city you could hide with? A friend or something?”

“I’ve scarcely left the estate outside of business before in my life.” He pushed the pin-straight purple strands behind his ear.

“You ever thought about a life of smuggling?”

“Smuggling? Why, someone of my station would have no need for such a profession--”

“I’m offering you a ride on my ship. A ticket out of here. Maybe you could stick around if you do a good job.” He immediately regretted his words, but the way that Lorenz’s face lit up with relief and thrill made it impossible to take back. “It’s not an easy living. Not cushy, either, so if you think it’ll be all starboard side naps and shooting your little pistol there, then you’re in for something else.” But Lorenz was already climbing into the bay, and Claude closed the doors behind him.

“Thank you. There’s no way that I could repay you for this.”

“Yeah yeah,” said Claude, taking off his heavy armor and leaving it in the bay, standing in just his turtlenecked jumpsuit. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Claude?” Lysithea stormed in through the doors. “I thought you were bringing me sweets! Leonie is going to kill you.”


End file.
